


For all what we found [Geraskier Tumblr Prompts]

by TanisVs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ballroom Dancing, Denial of Feelings, Dorks in Love, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralts has feelings, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Jaskier, Idiots in Love, Idiots to friends to lovers, Inspired by The Witcher, Jaskier has friends besides Geralt, Jaskier is a hopeless romantic, Jaskier | Dandelion Being an Idiot, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Musical References, Mutual Pining, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Fluff, Scent Kink, Sleeping Together, Slow Dancing, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, The Witcher Lore, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Walks In The Woods, Waltzing, Worried Geralt, Writing Exercise, comfort geralt, geralt actually care too much, geralt can talk about feelings, grieving jaskier, there are potions for hangovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22279903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanisVs/pseuds/TanisVs
Summary: In life, there are good and bad moments, and in all of them you can find what is worth living for.More than twenty years of friendship and love had taught them that.[This is my geraskier prompt collection! There's not a specific timeline for them, each prompt can be read independently from the others!Thank you for reading, your comments and your kudos! ♥️♥️♥️]* * *Tell him, TELL HIM, groaned the something warm and cozy, now afraid, terrified. He opened his eyes. Jaskier was still looking at him, now somewhat skeptical. Geralt gulped and felt the lump bigger than before, the rock heavier than ever. Jaskier sighed.“Geralt, let–”“I think I love you.”It was as if the time had stopped again. Or as if he suddenly went deaf. The music, the chatter, the voices, the laughs, all of it faded away gently. There was a loud heartbeat in all that silence, and Geralt knew it was his own. It was slow, agonizing, desperate. Jaskier tilted his head, surprised, and then said something that Geralt never thought he could say to him after he confessed somewhat like ‘I love you’.“Geralt, are you drunk?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 401





	1. You smell really nice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarysseLalonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarysseLalonde/gifts).



> One day I woke up thinking "Hey, I want to write more things, I'm going to write geraskier". So here we are, swimming in the hellhole. I hope you like it✨
> 
> I have no beta for this, sorry 🙏
> 
> Thank you for reading, your comments and your kudos! ♥️♥️♥️
> 
> [my Tumblr](https://ficsfordummies.tumblr.com/)  
> 

It had been two weeks since the last time they had set foot in a minimally civilized place. Because it was cheaper and because the villagers didn't like to see witchers near if there weren't any monsters eating their sheep. Geralt was used to that, to the wildlife, the paths through mountains, woodlands and almost endless meadows with no village in miles and miles around. 

It meant more peace.

_But less money, remember that, my dear friend._

That was Jaskier would say. Monsters far away from towns were no prey for witchers. Not if the monsters didn't attack them. Not if there was no payment after.

That was the first rule. 

That was the first thing Jaskier had to learn. Yes, tales about witchers said they didn't kill monsters for the greatest good, but tales were tales and Jaskier knew better than anyone that all the stories, all the ballads, and all the poems were enriched with lies. One of those lies was that witchers killed all monsters even if nobody paid them. That witchers hunted down monsters without a contract, not for the greatest good but for the sake of the hunt. And because witchers were monsters too and the only living being able to kill a monster was, deep down, another monster.

But Jaskier also knew Geralt was no monster.

And what Geralt thought about that was… It was a lie. 

_The Lie._

Still.

Brown and golden leaves covered the forest ground forming an orange and yellowish mantle, sometimes dark and putrid where the fungi devoured the dead remains of other plants. There was a pleasant semi-silence, broken by the creaking of the leaves under boots and hooves, Roach's occasionally huffs, and the chirps of the afternoon last birds. Geralt was walking beside Roach, guiding her by the bridles, waiting for the night to set the camp. Jaskier was walking a few steps behind mare and witcher, distracted with the view of the woods under the sunset amber light. Sometimes he picked up a leaf, recited some more or less poetic phrase and then threw the leaf with drama.

And Geralt couldn't help finding himself smiling a little.

"New song?" he asked after one of those not quite poetic phrases. 

He heard how Jaskier, in light of the question, rushed his pace for matching Geralt's speed. The witcher curved a new and tiny, very tiny, smile that faded away before the bard could see it.

"Well, no, not really," Jaskier replied with a grin of enjoyment. "I'm practicing, I want to describe better sights, nicer, you know? I know I lack that."

"You think so?" Geralt couldn't tell if that was true, all of Jaskier's songs were the same for him. Good songs, music he had learned to admire and respect, but all the same.

"I know so," Jaskier sounded serious and convinced, still the amusement in his voice. He let out a loud and theatrical sigh and waved his hand pointing out the woods. "Look, Geralt, isn't it beautiful? The trees with this light, all this orange, this full spectacle of color and shades, the shimmer in the horizon shattered by the leaves and the trunks?" Jaskier trotted a little ahead and faced Geralt while walking backward and framed the witcher with both hands. "Then you, the dark contrast in all this glow, the shadow, all black and leather, all brooding silence, all stiffness, a witcher walking alongside his loyal companion."

Geralt rolled his eyes and snorted.

"You are going to fall," he said.

"Excuse me," Jaskier disagreed, with the most dignified expression he was capable of performing. "But I'm not that clumsy, thank you, I'm–"

Then, as if Geralt has had seen the future, Jaskier tripped and fell on his butt. Geralt stopped and Roach neighed with happiness. This time Geralt didn't hide a smile.

"Ha-ha, very funny, " Jaskier growled from the ground, legs spread and hands plunged in the mantle of leaves. He whined. "Oh, Gods and Fate, the ground is wet. Geralt–" He looked up at the witcher, noticed his delightful face and puffed out his cheeks feeling them burning. "Geralt, stop laughing at me and help me."

Geralt shook his head and stepped towards him, offering Jaskier a hand. The bard grabbed it and got up fast as if he was a feather because Geralt could lift him with no effort. Jaskier huffed, faking being outraged, and rubbed his hands in his pants with all the pain of his heart. Geralt watched him in silence, only one step away from him, still smiling, and took a deep breath.

And then he _lost_ himself.

It wasn't as if he never sensed Jaskier's scent before, of course. In fact, he was more than used to it. It was _everywhere_.

_All the time._

He could recognize it among a crowd of villagers who hadn't bathed in years. He could keep track of it even if Jaskier was days ahead of him and the trail was already cold for everyone else. He could know through it if Jaskier was happy, anxious, worried, sad or satisfied among other things. He could know if Jaskier was horny and didn't want Geralt to know it. Wich was funny because Jaskier knew witchers could see, hear and smell everything. 

Not really everything but _everything_.

For the rest of the people, Jaskier smelled different every day. The bard took good care of that. He would use whatever he could use to mask any scent he didn't want to smell in himself, either were perfumes, soap, incense, oils, ointments or flowers from the road itself. It didn't matter what.

And certainly, it didn't matter to Geralt either. The core was always the same and that was what he liked.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's voice, curious and inquisitive, almost caught him off-guard. Geralt closed his eyes for a second and breathed out a deep grunt. "Everything it's okay? It's a monster? Do you want to take another path?" The bard held his breath, looked around and gripped the strap of his lute case. "Now I can picture a new song," he said. "The Ballad of the Bright Amber Woods, where Geralt of Rivia, the Mighty Witcher, the White Wolf, fought a dangerous and terrible…" He turned around, facing Geralt. "What monster is?"

Gerald opened his eyes and gazed at Jaskier, at his pretty blue eyes, his slightly parted pale pink lips, his face still somewhere between childhood and adulthood with soft and sharp features mixed. Geralt tilted his head a little. He smelled worried in Jaskier, alongside… wonder. He wanted to sink his face in the bard's neck and inhale deeply, taste his scent with tongue and teeth.

"Geralt?"

" **You smell really nice.** " It was a whisper, a low and hoarse rumor that made Jaskier feel a shiver running down his body.

"I… what?" Jaskier babbled. Beside Geralt, Roach caressed the witcher's hair and shoulder with her snout, huffing softly on him. Geralt curved a small smile and patted the mare's neck. Jaskier blinked, realizing there was no monster near. "Geralt, my sweet witcher, I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't had a bath for a week and a half, I can feel the dirt crawling for all my body, it's impossible for me to smell nice right now."

Geralt tilted his head.

"Maybe," he mumbled. He took one step ahead and entered Jaskier's personal bubble. He heard the bard's heartbeat speed up in half a second and smelled his sudden nervousness that made his blue eyes glow a little more. Geralt's gaze shifted between his eyes and his lips. Twice.

"Maybe you haven't had a bath in a long time, maybe you smell like sweat, mud, and grime. Maybe you are covered in dust. I know that what you most want right now is submerging yourself in rose water. I could feel it, it makes you want to howl in despair." Geralt raised his free hand. Jaskier had his doublet unlaced, the chemise mid open, as always, even if those days the wind were almost cold. And Geralt knew why. He touched skin, Jaskier's chest between pecs, and tapped once there with two fingers. The heartbeat turned out impossibly fast and Jaskier began to irradiate heat as if he were the sun.

"But deep down, Jaskier, you smell like soft feathers, like freshly baked bread, like buttercup and daisies, like oil and wood." Geralt narrowed his eyes a little, slowly. "Like a safe bonfire in the middle of the night. Like sweet ale. It doesn't matter if you covered yourself in whatever cheap cologne you want to use or if you hadn't bathed in years. That's your core scent and that's the smell I'll sense on you always."

And then Geralt, as if he had realized how much he had talked without thinking, blinked, went stiff and walked away from Jaskier with Roach huffing happy behind him. Jaskier, who was trembling without realizing it, exhaled a deep broken breath and hurried to follow Geralt.

"Wait, wait a moment," he said out of breath, still shaking, feeling his head full of bees. "You can't say those things and not kiss me after, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

Geralt sighed, _no_ , grunted.

"Nothing is wrong with me. I said too much, forget it," he said.

"Of course I won't. That was the most beautiful thing someone had said to me in my life," Jaskier complained and then his expression softened. "And it was you who said it…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier biting his lower lip, and he smelled happiness, pure joy, and unconditional love. He could recognize it, it was a sweet scent. Jaskier walked beside him in a new and comfortable silence, with the last glint of bright sunlight shining in Jaskier's hair with little and glossy yellow diamonds.

"I love you too, you know," Jaskier said then, with a weak and confident whisper. 

Geralt kept walking without looking at him, feeling surrounded by the bard's scent, strong, powerful and cozy. He flashed a grin. Then he said:

"Yes, I know."


	2. You look beautiful in the moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breeze was soft and warm. Weak. It moved the pine branches gently, with a sound of sweet and sleeping summer. The moon, full and bright, was shining like a graceful and silver fire in a sky sprinkled with tiny and twinkling stars. The crickets were singing their love songs, the only sound besides the owls hooting. 
> 
> It's a beautiful valley, thought Jaskier, sitting on a rock near the cliff, I could write a song only with the descriptions of this sight.
> 
> They were traveling on their way to Lyria, by a long canyon covered in thick and fresh forests with warm rivers after months of thaw. Far away from villages Geralt didn't hunt monsters (that's the first rule) so they weren't on constant stress. If by some chance the medallion began to buzz, Geralt diverted his way elsewhere and avoided whatever creature was ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second tumblr prompt. You can read it as well in [my Tumblr!](https://ficsfordummies.tumblr.com/)  
> Thank you for all the kudos and the comments!. And sorry for any mistake, I had no beta for this ;_;
> 
> 💖💖💖💖💖

The breeze was soft and warm. Weak. It moved the pine branches gently, with a sound of sweet and sleeping summer. The moon, full and bright, was shining like a graceful and silver fire in a sky sprinkled with tiny and twinkling stars. The crickets were singing their love songs, the only sound besides the owls hooting. 

_ It's a beautiful valley _ , thought Jaskier, sitting on a rock near the cliff,  _ I could write a song only with the descriptions of this sight. _

They were traveling on their way to Lyria, by a long canyon covered in thick and fresh forests with warm rivers after months of thaw. Far away from villages Geralt didn't hunt monsters (that's the first rule) so they weren't on constant stress. If by some chance the medallion began to buzz, Geralt diverted his way elsewhere and avoided whatever creature was ahead.

Jaskier was gazing at the stars, struggling to locate the constellations he thought he knew when Geralt came along and sat beside him on the rock with a soft sigh. The campsite was behind them, the bonfire reduced to a few slight and glowing embers that they didn't need anymore. Roach was already sleeping with soft snorts and huffs.

The wind blew calmy from the south, carrying the whispers of the valley. Suddenly, a wolf's howl shattered the serenity of the night for long seconds. Jaskier looked at Geralt, who had his eyes closed and an expression of peace in his face. Silverlight leaked faintly over them, making Geralt's features seemed ethereal, with his white hair almost sparkling in a million of the little stars that were in the sky. Jaskier felt himself holding his breath and thinking:

**_Gods, he's so beautiful in the moonlight…_ **

When the howl faded, the witcher opened his eyes and fixed it in the deep scar that was the canyon, a tiny smirk on his lips. Jaskier felt his face warm, hands sweating and throat dry.

"Sometimes," Geralt whispered, and he sounded resigned, guilty and hopeful at the same time. "I wish I could stay like this."

Jaskier swallowed, glancing at the valley. For a moment, the crickets were the only noise that made vibrated the air. 

"You mean…" he said.

Geralt sighed, softly, and replied with a mutter.

"Travelling with you through mountains and forest without monsters, without having to worry about anything else."

Jaskier frowned a little, suddenly sad because he knew Geralt minded people calling him 'monster' much more than monsters itself.

"But that's not the Path, right?" he said.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Geralt's nod.

"That's not the Path." Geralt echoed.

Above them, the moon had moved a little, reaching the zenith overhead the mountain's peak. Jaskier swallowed again. He could give up his music, his own voice, for a world where Geralt could be entirely happy, without the Path, without having to hunt monsters for coins from people that feared and despised him for what he was. 

"They don't deserve your help," Jasper said, feeling angry.

Geralt looked at him, tilting his head a little. 

"Don't say that," The witcher replied, soft, patiently. "That's not how it works."

"I know but–" Jaskier hesitated and bit his lower lip. "They don't care about you, to really know you. You are just the witcher who hunts monsters, the mutant. They hate you when there's no danger in sight but soon a monster appears they run to you for help. And they only pay well if you haggle."

Jaskier realized then his hands were shaking. Geralt said nothing but he didn't stop watching him.

"And it's not fair," Jaskier continued. "You are the kindest person I have met, even at first, when I was following you without your consent."

"I punched you." Geralt's voice remained soft and tender except for a slight hint of remorse. "And I've never apologized for that."

"Yes, you had," Jaskier affirmed. "After that, when we were imprisoned and the elves wanted to kill us, you were willing to die at his hands if that was they wanted to do. But for me? You–"

"Jaskier," Geralt interrupted. He put a hand on his arm and squeezed it. "I didn't want you to die at that moment because you were a casualty, not because I was apologizing. Perhaps you were annoying and I didn't want any type of companionship but…" Geralt let the words die in his tongue and shook his head softly. "I know what are you trying to say, and I feel… grateful, really, but the way most people treat me didn't mean I'm not an asshole sometimes. Especially to you."

Jaskier gulped a dense sigh and took the hand he had in his arm. His own hand was smaller than Geralt's hand, with the lute calluses not matching the sword calluses. 

"I like this," he mumbled.

"What," Geralt said with another whisper.

"This. You talking to me about how you feel. I know it's difficult for you."

Jaskier saw a tiny smile blooming in his lips. Geralt interlaced their fingers and leaned a little towards the bard, resting his forehead on Jaskier's. 

"I'm sorry," he said.

Jaskier smiled, slowly, fondly, and cupped the witcher's face with his free hand. The moonlight made his amber eyes much more luminous, bright. Jaskier caressed his jawline, feeling the slight rough beard Geralt had.

"See? You are kind," he murmured. "Much more kind than most of the people out there."

"Hm." The sigh was long, harsh, hoarse, but no hostile. 

"I have been traveling with you for years, Geralt, I know you have bad temper sometimes, but you also had patient, and you care for little things and…" Jaskier breathes deeply.

Geralt chuckled.

"I get it," he said. "You don't have to do this."

"But–"

"Little bird," Geralt hissed sweetly, lifted the bard's hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. Jaskier felt his heart flutter fast, a hot cloud whirling in his chest, his face warm, and tears peeking in the corner of his eyes. "Thank you."

Jaskier shook his head, rubbing a little Geralt's forehead. Geralt huffed a smile.

"Oh, no, don't argue with me. Thank you–" Geralt pulled away from Jaskier a little and kissed his forehead, dragging his lips through the temple to the ear. "–for making me feel better."

Jaskier let out a weak breath and giggled, trembling, his free hand abandoned Geralt's face and gripped his shirtfront, making the witcher straight up. 

"Anytime, my love," he said.

Then Jaskier pulled just enough to make Geralt leaned and kissed him, softly at first, much more deeply after. Geralt grunted, low, almost harsh, and bit Jaskier lower lip before pulled away an inch. Jaskier breathed out a whine.

"Come," Geralt said getting up and helping Jaskier to get up. "I don't want to fall off the cliff while we're fucking."

Jaskier snorted, following Geralt back to the camp, feeling floating, feeling like the moon over the mountains and the valley, in a zenith among all the stars in the sky.


	3. I think I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell him, TELL HIM, groaned the something warm and cozy, now afraid, terrified. He opened his eyes. Jaskier was still looking at him, now somewhat skeptical. Geralt gulped and felt the lump bigger than before, the rock heavier than ever. Jaskier sighed.
> 
> “Geralt, let–”
> 
> “I think I love you.”
> 
> It was as if the time had stopped again. Or as if he suddenly went deaf. The music, the chatter, the voices, the laughs, all of it faded away gently. There was a loud heartbeat in all that silence, and Geralt knew it was his own. It was slow, agonizing, desperate. Jaskier tilted his head, surprised, and then said something that Geralt never thought he could say to him after he confessed somewhat like ‘I love you’.
> 
> “Geralt, are you drunk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt it's longer than I expected to be, it got out of hand. But I am happy that I could write so much now! There are some musical references but I'm not an expert, so I'm sorry for any mistake about it.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading, for your kudos and your comments, I really appreciate it! ♥️♥️♥️
> 
> (Again I have no beta for this 😔)

The ballroom was full of couples dancing. The music was so lively and vibrant that even Geralt of Rivia, the lonely and gruff witcher, was keeping up the rhythm tapping his fingers on his crossed arms and goblet of wine. _It was unconscious_ , he wanted to thought, but the truth was that he was enjoying the music because it was Jaskier who was playing it. 

The bard was in his element, confident, cocky, arrogant. Geralt could say he had smiled twice in half a minute when Jaskier had won a music duel for the fourth time that evening. Maybe his friend couldn't do magic properly said but he could enchant an entire court of nobles used to the most refined songs in all the North Kingdoms only with his voice and chords.

If real magic didn't exist, then that would be magic.

Geralt was leaning on one of the marble columns, almost hidden in the shadows under the gallery arches that surrounded the room. It didn't matter how many times Jaskier dragged him to those parties, he never fully liked it. It wasn't his territory, it was Jaskier's. If he was there in the first place was only because the queen of Lyria and Rivia wanted to show him off, make herself look more important than she really was because a famous witcher chose her kingdom's name as last name years and years ago. She was lucky his master didn't let him use the first name that he came up with.

 _At least you'll have food and drinks for free_ , Jaskier had said when they arrived at the castle, patting his arm, trying to encourage him.

At least, yes, he didn't want to be sober all night.

A few ladies, the bravest or the most pretentious, he couldn't tell the difference, had tried to get him to dance time to time but he always declined their proposals with a polite apology. They always pouted but left him alone after two or three negatives masked with flattery. After all the ladies' attempts, Geralt always glanced at Jaskier, finding out that the bard was also looking at him, with a funny smile spread on his lips and almost laughing.

Every fucking time.

And Geralt always reacted to that smile with a resigned frown and a sip of his wine, just because that made Jaskier laugh in the end. And one of the few things that could help Geralt endure what was left of the party was to see Jaskier laughing. To see his bright, pure and precious smile even if it was at his own expense.

He could say he didn't know when he had started to think like that, and it would be a blatantly lie. He knew that one day he had woken up, (and Geralt would always deny it, but he remembered that day perfectly.) he had seen Jaskier smile during breakfast and had felt _something_ . _Something_ that made him take a deep breath and look at him in silence when Jaskier was distracted. _Something_ that made him softer around him, _something_ that made him lend Jaskier all the blankets at night (because Jaskier was human and weak and…), to put a hand on his forehead if the bard had nightmares and use Axii to calm him down. 

_Something_ that made him want to make Jaskier smile and laugh, want to make him feel safe and sound. Appreciated. Admired. Respected.

 _Loved_.

Geralt grunted, drinking all remains of his wine and gave the goblet to a maid that was passing by. His head was fuzzy already, buzzing with all those thoughts. 

The last song was a fast and wild string strumming, the sixth or seventh duel between bards. Of course, Jaskier the Songbird was the winner. Again. The crowd, including the royal family, burst into thunderous applause and shouts. Geralt hissed and frowned a little, overwhelmed by the commotion. That was partially the reason he always was a distant bastard in parties, as much as he could and as much the social code allowed him to be without looking an ungrateful guest. He watched Jaskier bathing in praises and compliments, in claps in the shoulder and gifts from some of the court' ladies, and licked his teeth. He began to feel that _something_ again, warm and cozy, before it transformed in _somewhat_ much more green and monstrous. 

Geralt had to take a long breath and close his eyes. He took another breath and exhaled it slowly, thinking on that day, that winter morning when Jaskier smiled and he felt _that_ _something_ for the first time. When he opened it, the bard was walking at a steady pace towards him, making his way through the dancers and the musicians who were still congratulating him. Jaskier was radiant, and Geralt thought he was beautiful even if he was heated, had his forehead pearly with sweat and his cheeks red. The _something_ warm ate the _somewhat_ green and monstrous, and made Geralt curved a slight smile while watching Jaskier almost rushing to him. 

"Geralt!” Jaskier was breathless. He had his lute well held under his arm “Have you seen it? Gods, I thought I was going to run out of air.”

Jaskier tugged his doublet’ collar and untied three buttons. Geralt slid his eyes down his neck, tilting his head a little.

“I saw it, and I heard it,” he said. Jaskier huffed. “Good job, Songbird.”

Even with all the noise, with all the sounds surrounding him, Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart beating faster than before and smell his happiness. Jaskier smiled and looked away from a second. The witcher knew there was coy in his eyes. If Jaskier was radiant before, now he was glowing like the sun at his summer’ zenith.

“Thank you,” Jaskier replied, looking up at Geralt, and frowned a little with guilt. “I know you don’t like being at these parties.”

Geralt felt how his own expression went soft.

“Well,” he said. “It's not that terrible. As you always say there’s free food, free drinks, sometimes good company...”

“Oh?”, Jaskier raised his eyebrows and looked around. Geralt bit his inner cheek while Jaskier wasn’t looking and shook slightly his head with denied. His face went flat and serious when Jaskier looked at him again, this time suspicious. “But I've seen you rejecting all the ladies who wanted to dance with you?”

It was Geralt’s turn to raise his eyebrows, letting Jaskier try to figure out what was he had meant. Jaskier stared at him for a moment, then blinked, confuse. He parted his lips.

"You–"

"Jaskier!"

Jaskier turned around. A woman with a fiddle in her hands approached them, also heated and exhilarated. Geralt threw her a look, smelling her enthusiasm. She was young, long blonde hair, big green eyes, freckles… She was more girl than woman actually, with her cute golden dress that matched with all the other bards' golden clothes. 

"Lena," Jaskier greeted with a smile.

The girl, Lena, glanced at Geralt, curious (and he noticed that curiosity was genuine and had no malice), but looked at Jaskier immediately after. Geralt watched them in silence, waiting.

"Prince Marek wants us to play The Sun and Moon Waltz so he can dance it with his wife, we need you to guide us."

Jaskier snorted, smiling.

"You need me or you wanted me to?"

"Well…"

Geralt snorted too. The girl looked like she was caught drinking ale when she was told not to do it. Suddenly, Geralt thought Lena must have been a few years older than Ciri, and that thought made him feel… remorseful. Only a little. Only for a moment.

"Please?" Lena begged, almost hugging her instrument. "You are the best of us, no one can play music and sing as you do it."

Jaskier turned towards Geralt, inflated with pride.

"See? Someone knows the truth, Geralt of Rivia," he said, triumphantly. Geralt rolled his eyes. Lena didn't know if she wanted to laugh or not. "I don't know, darling," he said to her. "I think I need a break, at least for the next half hour."

"Oh, but–"

"You can ask Betricze, she's the composer, no?"

"Betricze is the one who wants you to lead us, in fact. She said that you would want to inflate more of your ego."

Jaskier groaned and Geralt thought it was an excellent imitation of his own grunts. He couldn't help to smile.

"Of course she said that," Jaskier mumbled. Then he sighed, resigned. Geralt didn't need his witcher senses to know his friend didn't want to return with the other bards yet. "Give me a moment, I–"

"Tell that lady that Jaskier will not play that song with you." Geralt interfered, his voice low and harsh but calm. He straightened and took one step ahead slowly, circling Jaskier's waist with his arm. He felt the bard going stiff, his heartbeat faster than before, his scent spiced with nervousness. Geralt held his breath. "Tell her that the witcher wants his bard with him after all night waiting and if she has a problem with that she can go fuck herself." 

Lena blinked, gripping her fiddle, and nodded with no words, flustered, face red. Geralt wanted to laugh. The girl turned on her heels and trotted to the gang of bards that were watching them from the other side of the ballroom. Geralt watched them in return with that scary face he knew he could do, pressing Jaskier back against his chest. 

" _Uh_ , Geralt–" the bard mumbled.

"Wait," Geralt hissed.

He located that woman, Betricze, and locked eyes with her. She was older than Lena, mature. She reminded him of Calanthe. Geralt smiled fiercely when she frowned and huffed at him in the distance, starting to prepare the rest of the bards.

The _somewhat_ green and monstrous barked a laugh and retreated. 

Then Geralt realized that Jaskier was trembling. And he let him free.

The _something_ warm didn't want him to do it. 

"I'm sorry if I got you in trouble. I felt you didn't want to go with them," he murmured.

" _Hm_ , yes, well, you are right," Jaskier cleared his throat, fiddling with his collar and the fourth button, not looking at Geralt at all. "Thank you. But I'm afraid now they'll think something that it's not true."

"I don't care about what some bunch of bards thinks about us while that doesn't affect you."

Jaskier grinned and when Geralt saw that pretty little smile in his lips, that _something_ roared victoriously.

"That's very kind of you, Geralt."

Jaskier looked up, looked at him, and Geralt lost himself in his blue eyes, his pretty bright eyes full of passion and untold feelings. It was a moment but he felt it like a century as if time has stopped, with Jaskier in front of him and Geralt ready to set that _something_ free. But then a soft melody began to sound and Jaskier looked away, distracted. 

Geralt sighed.

The guests gradually moved away from the center of the room to form an oval space, wide enough for a couple could dance. Geralt saw the prince, a young man with black hair and blue and silver clothes, taking his wife, a very elegant woman with a long and puffy dark blue dress, to the center of that space. They bowed to each other and started to dance, slowly. The song was only instrumental, and only with strings instruments.

The crowd watched the couple dancing in a silence broken with sighs and _aws_ of joy. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jaskier whispered.

Geralt noticed Jaskier had left his lute on a table near them. The bard was much calmer now and had caught his breath finally. But he was still blushing.

 _Tell him, tell him_ , said the _something_ warm.

"The song?" Geralt asked.

"Yes, of course the song, Geralt," Jaskier chuckled and threw him a doubtful glimpse.

"I suppose, yes," Geralt replied. "I'm not an expert."

Jaskier crossed his arms then, smiling.

"Well, it's not only beautiful, but it's also brilliantly written."

Geralt knew that Jaskier wanted to be asked about it, so he spoiled him. 

"How's that?"

“It’s not for the technical aspects, though I could tell you about all the details of it if you want. It has wonderful arrangements and the harmony it’s a masterpiece itself.”

Geralt chuckled. In the oval area, the prince made his wife turn on herself two times, then he took her hand and moved two steps to the right, and turned around with her after. They were smiling, and giggling sometimes. They looked happy, comfortable with each other, in love.

_In love._

Geralt slightly licked his lips and felt… strange, as if his guts had shrunk and something tightened his throat. It felt as if he had a big rock on his back, a sword sunk in his chest. He swallowed and felt it as if he had a heavy lump stuck.

“I think I'm not the best person to appreciate those things,” he mumbled, and in some way, he sounded a little sad.

Jaskier looked at him with a tiny sweet smile and said:

“Don’t worry, that’s not the most interesting. Not for the no bards, at least,”

“Then?”

“There are two main melodies, one played by a lute, the other played by a fiddle and each of them has a cortege of the same instruments playing their respective chorus behind.”

“They wanted you to be the main lute, right?”

“Yes, in fact, it’s the true main instrument. It represents the Moon in the story.”

“Oh?” Geralt tilted his head a little, still watching the couple dancing. “So, the fiddle it’s the Sun.”

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded. “The two melodies are entangled, its harmony it’s the same, but the lute plays in a minor key and the fiddle in a major key.” Jaskier went silent for a moment. Then he spoke again, and Geralt sensed a melancholic note in his voice. “The story tells you that the Moon was in love with the Sun, but the Sun never noticed, so the Moon started to appear in the sky when it was daytime, glowing with part of the Sun’s shine to attract its attention.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and saw his distant and sad look. The sunken sword in his chest hurt him more. “The Sun continued no noticing the Moon was there, day after day after day. And the Moon felt despair and disappear. Then, during a sunset, the Sun finally thought: ‘Where is the Moon? Why isn't it here with me?’, and felt despair too.”

Geralt swallowed once more, hard. He felt as if a claw had removed the sword and stuck in his chest, trying to tear his heart out.

“How it ends?” he asked in barely a whisper. 

He sensed Jaskier beside him getting tense, his heart beating fast again, and that even he almost had tears in the corner of his eyes. The bard cleared his throat.

“The Sun went on a long journey to search for the Moon– Oh, they are playing that part now, look.” 

Geralt threw a glance at the couple. The princess, with her puffy dress floating like a cloud, was dancing alone near one of the extremes of the oval space. The prince, dancing alone too, was slowly approaching his wife with short and errant steps, pretending being lost without her. Then, when they met, the music exploded in a new sweet fanfare and the dancers turned on themselves without an inch between them, without tearing their eyes from the other. The prince made his wife turned around three more times. The princess took two steps back, two steps ahead, to her husband. The music began to fade. The couple slowly stopped dancing. They bowed to each other again, then they started clapping. The crowd imitated them.

“So the Sun found the Moon and they were happily ever after?” Geralt said while all the nobles and guests surrounded the bards to congratulate them. Jaskier nodded without words, smiling, but Geralt knew it was a weak and fake smile. “And it’s brilliant because… ?”

Jaskier snorted, then he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied.

“It’s important to you, don’t you,” Geralt faced Jaskier.

Jaskier looked at him, his smile vanishing bit by bit and said:

“You are indulging me a lot lately,”

Geralt shrugged. The claw tore flesh. The _something_ whimpered.

“Do you want me to be the grumpy witcher as always?” he replied.

Jaskier shook his head, again with no words. Geralt watched him in silence too, knowing the bard wasn’t going to tell him why the song was beautiful and brilliant in his opinion. And he knew it was because Jaskier thought the Sun hadn’t noticed him.

But that wasn’t true.

The bards began to play another song, one much more lively, and some of the nobles began to dance it. Jaskier looked away and picked up his lute from the table, clearing his throat for the third time.

“I should go back. If the queen catches me wandering so much she won't pay me,” he said with a resigned and tired sigh. He didn’t look at Geralt. And Geralt felt bad. “See you later?”

He was about to go when Geralt grabbed his arm softly. Jaskier looked up and blinked, confused. Geralt frowned, also confused, and parted his lips as if he was going to say something. The witcher hesitated.

“Geralt–”

Just for a second.

“Don’t. Wait,” he said. No. He _begged_. “I… I have noticed you.”

Jaskier blinked again, still confused.

“What are you talking about?” he said, frowning too.

Geralt held his breath, dragging his fingers along Jaskier’s arm until he touched the wrist. He wasn’t good with words, Jaskier was. It wasn’t fair.

“I… “ he mumbled and closed his eyes for a second, indecisive. 

_Tell him,_ **_TELL HIM_ ** , groaned the _something_ warm and cozy, now afraid, terrified. He opened his eyes. Jaskier was still looking at him, now somewhat skeptical. Geralt gulped and felt the lump bigger than before, the rock heavier than ever. Jaskier sighed.

“Geralt, let–”

“ **I think I love you.** ”

It was as if the time had stopped again. Or as if he suddenly went deaf. The music, the chatter, the voices, the laughs, all of it faded away gently. There was a loud heartbeat in all that silence, and Geralt knew it was his own. It was slow, agonizing, desperate. Jaskier tilted his head, surprised, and then said something that Geralt never thought he could say to him after he confessed somewhat like ‘I love you’.

“Geralt, are you drunk?”

Geralt felt the rock crushing him, the claw finally ripping out his heart, the tip of the sword at his neck. He let out a deep breath and released Jaskier’s wrist. He didn’t know emotions could hurt so much.

No. He _did_ know but he blatantly chose to ignore it for years. 

“Maybe,” Geralt grunted, suddenly feeling tired, suddenly wanting to be really, really drunk. “Forget it,”

Then the witcher turned around and walked away through the gallery, also feeling stupid and an idiot. Behind him, Jaskier's voice rumbled with a perplex echo along the corridor, calling him. 

But Geralt didn’t listen and didn’t stop.

* * *

The gardens were empty, with all the guests inside the castle in general and the ballroom in particular. The moon was in its first quarter and shed a pale silver light over the trees and the small lake that was surrounding the fortress. Geralt thought it was ironic that it was him the one contemplating that view, the flowers on the shore, the ducks in the water, the fireflies floating everywhere as if he was a damsel with a broken heart because her beloved did not return her feelings. But he was not a damsel, nor his beloved did not correspond his feelings.

That was what pissed him off the most.

Jaskier, in fact, did return his feelings. Geralt was aware of how the bard looked at him, how he smiled at him, and he knew why he sang those songs about him, why he touched him with so much care, why he followed him with such insistence despite the danger of the witcher's life, why he helped him the way he did. 

He knew _why_.

And he understood why Jaskier thought Geralt must be drunk if he was saying that he loved him. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt anyway. 

_I suppose I deserve it_ , he thought, _that was reckless and stupid, and out of time and_ –

Geralt let out a deep sigh. He was sitting near the lakeshore, in the shadow of the castle, with an almost empty bottle of _wódka_ stoled from the kitchens. He wanted to be drunk, wanted to forget his stupidity, but his metabolism burned the alcohol before it could take effect. He thought about Jaskier, who probably was having fun without thinking or worrying about what had happened. He thought (no, he _knew_ ) that they probably will not talk about it in the morning or in the several following days.

Not if it depended on Geralt.

And that pissed him off too.

Geralt drank the last remains of the _wódka_ and left the bottle on the grass and clicked his tongue with a grunt. Suddenly he heard the steps, distant and careful steps, and the whispers. Three persons, one male, two females. He could smell them, they were nervous. At first, Geralt thought they were nobles who wanted to have fun behind the bushes, but then he smelled the buttercups and the daisies and…

And he heard the music too.

Geralt looked back and saw Jaskier walking towards him. He had his doublet unbuttoned. Geralt frowned a little, more confusing than angry. Behind the buttercups, the daisies and the nervousness, he smelled hope. He got up slowly, just when Jaskier reached him. The bard had a cautious and eager expression. His eyes were of a deep blue that resembled the blue of the water illuminated by the moonlight. Geralt blinked, not knowing what to say exactly. Jaskier offered him his right hand. Geralt sighed.

“Jaskier...”

“Please, Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled, and Geralt smelled guilt. He took his hand, feeling it warm and a little sweaty. Geralt put his own right hand on Jaskier’s waist while Jaskier put his left hand on Geralt’s right shoulder. _Something_ inside Geralt melted and whimpered. Jaskier held his breath and swallowed. “Do you remember the dance?” he asked, again with a whisper.

For a second, Geralt didn’t know what he meant, but then he listened to the music and recognized it. 

It was that waltz. 

The Sun and Moon Waltz, specifically the part where the Sun was looking for the Moon and then they met again. Geralt shook his head weakly, feeling his gut hot, like a wasp’s nest. Jaskier smiled, softly.

“It’s alright, you have seen it once,” he said. “I didn’t expect it.”

Jaskier began to dance. Geralt followed his lead. Well, actually saying that they were dancing was saying a lot. They were swinging more than dancing, slowly, sometimes clumsily. 

But it was enough. 

He had Jaskier in his arms, it was more than enough.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, after minutes and minutes of heavy silence. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously before. I can't believe you told me what I had been wanting to hear for so long and that I disdained it that way,” Geralt squeezed his fingers gently. “I’m so dumb…”

“You are not dumb,” Geralt sighed, in a mutter. “You had the rights to think I was drunk,” He licked his lips slightly. “I’m sorry I storm off like that.”

“No, no, it’s okay, really,” Jaskier wasn’t looking at him directly. “If it had happened the other way around, I would be walking in circles whining like a child, and I would be thinking of writing a thousand songs about my broken heart.”

Geralt huffed with a tiny smirk.

“Well, I was not thinking about writing songs, but I was here trying to get myself true drunk if that comforts you.”

Jaskier looked at him finally. Geralt saw and smelled guilt again, saw the tears in the corner of his eyes.

“It doesn’t comfort me… I’m sorry,” Jaskier said.

Geralt knew Jaskier was about to cry. So he released his hand and stroked his cheek with his thumb.

“No, no, my _little bird_ , don’t cry.”

Jaskier leaned into the touch, smiling, and put his free hand on the other shoulder, almost circling Geralt’s’ neck. They were still swinging slowly, pretending to be dancing the waltz. Geralt breathed in. 

And then he heard them.

_But idiot, just kiss him already_

_Please, ma’am, he is going to hear us_

_I don’t fucking care, girl, I’m tired of men incapable of doing romance properly_

_I think they are doing it right?_

He stopped dancing.

And when he did it, the music faded, Jaskier huffed and hid his face in Geralt’s chest. Geralt patted his head.

“Alright, you can go out, you two!” he called.

Instantly, two figures appeared from behind a tree not so far, one carrying a lute and the other carrying a fiddle. 

“Lady Lena, lady Betricze.” he greeted.

He saw how Betricze wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, don’t call me _that_ , witcher,” she replied, clearly disgusted in general with the situation.

Beside her, Lena looked much more satisfied and happy. Geralt gave her a tiny nod. Jaskier huffed again and moved aside him, looking undignified and resigned.

“Thank you, Zeze, for breaking the moment, very professional,” he said, bitterly.

Betricze gasped and frowned. 

“Oh, _excuse me_ , Pankratz, but I haven't been the one who screwed up anything, it has been your lover and his… ridiculous hearing.” 

Geralt could see her face going red. He wanted to laugh but he snorted, repressing it. Jaskier looked at him in disbelief.

“Geralt, it’s not funny! She promised she would play all the waltz for us, and she didn’t do it.”

“Oh, come on, you weren't even dancing,” Betricze grunted. “My song was being profaned with those pathetic moves.”

“Oh, yes? I’ll show you something very, very, profaned,” Jaskier began to roll up his sleeves.

Geralt caught him by the waist with one arm and made him stepped back.

“Alright, ladies, I think you can go now, thank you for the music, I owe you a favor,” he said.

Jaskier squirmed in his arm. Betricze smiled triumphally and turned around, going away. Lena sighed and began to follow her.

“Don’t, Geralt, you don’t owe her anything!” Jaskier exclaimed, frustrated.

Betricze made a rude sign to him and laughed. Jaskier grunted. Lena, still following the older woman, looked back and shouted:

“I think you make a great couple!”

Jaskier rolled his eyes but grinned a little.

“Thanks, Lena!” he replied.

“Can I write a song about you two?!”

Geralt snorted again. Jaskier grumbled.

“No, Lena!”

Geralt knew that _No, Lena_ had an implied _He is mine, don’t sing about him_. For some reason, he thought that was cute. He let go of Jaskier gradually.

“What if I write it with other names?!”

“Go away, Lena!”

Lena giggled in the distance and ran behind Betricze. Jaskier, shaking his head, put his hands on his hips, still annoyed. Then looked at Geralt, who seemed about to laugh finally.

“What?” Jaskier inquired, displeased.

“Nothing,” Geralt replied, amused. “ _Bards_.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Geralt didn’t respond. He cupped Jaskier’s face with both hands, gently, and kissed him, also gently. Jaskier whined, kissing him back, circling his neck with his arms and pressing, almost rubbing, himself against the witcher. Geralt let out a harsh groan, a rough grunt, and bit Jaskier lower lip carefully, making him moan against his mouth. Geralt pulled away just enough to breath and rested his forehead on Jaskier's. Jaskier was panting a little and had his pupils wide and huge. He smiled, laughing softly after. Geralt smiled too, kissing his forehead, kissing his temple.

“Can I ask you something?” Jaskier asked, whispering.

“What is it?” Geralt murmured against his skin.

“Since when?”

Geralt knew he would do that question someday. He didn’t expect it so soon. But well, he couldn’t blame Jaskier after all.

“I don’t remember what day exactly, but I know it was late winter, and we were far away from any village,” he said thinking back about that. “I was doing something beside the fire and then… “

“Then?”

Geralt kissed near his left eye and straightened up, looking at him, and his expression was soft and calm.

“Then I looked at you, I don’t remember what were you doing either, but… I looked at you, and you were smiling, and I thought: I want him to smile like that forever. I want to make him smile like that always.”

“Geralt…”

“And the day after it was something else as if suddenly I could notice all the little things I like about you that I didn’t notice before.” Geralt slid his fingertips alongside Jaskier’s jaw and neck, making him shiver with pleasure. “And then I didn’t know– No, I didn’t want to acknowledge it was something more than ephemeral, after all these years, that it was…”

Geralt frowned a bit, hesitating, looking for the right words, looking for good words. Jaskier stroked his jaw, watching him with all his sweetness, listening patiently, knowing that talking about emotions was difficult for Geralt.

“It was… ?” he encouraged him.

Geralt took a deep breath, hearing the precious heartbeat of Jaskier, smelling his scent made of buttercups and daisies, gazing at his beautiful, bright and radiant blue eyes, and felt that _something_ finally taking shape in his mind.

“It was love,” he whispered.

And Jaskier breathed in deep too, before grabbing Geralt's shirt collar and kissed him, trailing his hands and his fingers for all his chest, touching the medallion with devotion. Geralt kissed him back, slow again, feeling the heartbeat going fast, smelling Jaskier like buttercups and daisies but also like fire, wood and oil. 

And _Love_ sighed with relief, finally free, finally... at home.


	4. Don’t do this to yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the Lettenhove man approached Jaskier and the bard finally noticed the blazon, the music faded. Jaskier had apologized to the villagers and had walked away with the man to a corner of the room. Geralt had watched them from afar, without asking for more drink, waiting, feeling himself on edge. The messenger had reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment neatly folded and closed with the Lettenhove seal. He had given it to Jaskier, and Geralt had been able to hear a weak 'I'm so sorry, my lord'. Then the man had been gone, leaving the bard with the letter.
> 
> The letter.
> 
> Geralt had seen Jaskier read it in that corner, alone. He had seen how his confused and still a little cheerful expression was transformed into a serious and also empty face after a frown. He had seen his hands shaking, and had smelled how the buttercups wilted. He had smelled the sadness too. And when Geralt had slowly got up from the table and started approaching Jaskier, the bard had looked up from the letter with wet eyes. 
> 
> And Geralt had rushed up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fourth prompt!
> 
> I closed the prompt request finally because I already have too much on my plate, so I can say now you'll have ten chapters of this prompt collection for sure! 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and the kudos, you are a really beautiful fandom! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

That night they had gone in a tavern somewhere in Temeria. Jaskier had been singing his best songs and Geralt had been drinking while watching the bard earn enough coins for a room that night. Geralt had thought about sleeping with Roach in the stable, to leave Jaskier with a room just for him. He had thought about that because it was cheaper and because maybe Jaskier would like to be with some woman without witchers in between. Geralt remembered clearly that thought just as he remembered how it had made him feel: Uncomfortable and a little irritated. But that had not been the worst of that night. 

The worst had been the letter.

Geralt was taking the last drink of his pint when a man with the colors and the blazon of the House Lettenhove entered the tavern. The man had gone unnoticed to everyone except Geralt, who saw in slow motion how the man stood still as soon as he crossed the threshold and looked at Jaskier with a solemn and serious expression. No, not with solemnity. With an empty face. As if he tried to suppress his emotions at all costs. Geralt had known he was a messenger instantly, and that it meant bad news. 

Because it always meant bad news.

When the Lettenhove man approached Jaskier and the bard finally noticed the blazon, the music faded. Jaskier had apologized to the villagers and had walked away with the man to a corner of the room. Geralt had watched them from afar, without asking for more drink, waiting, feeling himself on edge. The messenger had reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment neatly folded and closed with the Lettenhove seal. He had given it to Jaskier. Then the man had been gone, leaving the bard with the letter.

_ The letter _ .

Geralt had seen Jaskier read it in that corner, alone. He had seen how his confused and still a little cheerful expression was transformed into a serious and also empty face after a frown. He had seen his hands shaking, and had smelled how the buttercups wilted. He had smelled the sadness too. And when Geralt had slowly got up from the table and started approaching Jaskier, the bard had looked up from the letter with wet eyes. 

And Geralt had rushed up to him.

"What happened?" Geralt had asked, worried. 

Palpably worried.

Jaskier had folded the letter right away, put it in his pouch and eluded Geralt's gaze. Trying not to cry. Not in front of Geralt.

"Nothing," Jaskier had replied. “Everything is fine,”

Geralt remembered how he had felt then. Frustrated. Angry. Isolated for no reason when Jaskier was always more than willing to talk about his feelings, to shout them if it was necessary. Jaskier refusing to trust him when something bad was happening hurt him and made him think for the next few weeks.

"Bullshit," he had replied.

Jaskier had ignored him.

That night, the night in Temeria, the night of the letter, Jaskier had gone to a room alone and had locked the door, leaving Geralt on the other side of an impenetrable stone wall. Geralt had slept in the stables with Roach like he had been pretended in the first place, but…

He knew something really, really bad had happened, and Jaskier didn't want to tell him.

That had been two weeks or so ago. And they hadn't talked about it since then.

They were no longer in Temeria, following any rumor of villages in a need of a witcher. In all that time, Jaskier had been silent, answering only direct questions from Geralt with monosyllables or even with grunts very similar to the witcher's. In the taverns which they stopped, Jaskier didn’t sing. He kept his lute hidden and drank and drank until he got so drunk that he couldn't get up from the table. Geralt always had to help him get to the room, take off his shoes and make sure he didn't drown in his own vomit.

Jaskier didn't say a word about anything in all that time, and Geralt didn't ask either. But with each drunkenness, Geralt became increasingly hurt and angry. Not because Jaskier didn't want to tell him what the hell was going on, (because deep down, though that hurt him, Geralt couldn't reproach him that when he didn't preach by example himself), but because he didn't know how to help him. Geralt had even thought about using Axii with him to calm his mind and make him feel better. Fuck, he had even thought about...

He thought the letter had been like receive an arrow in the heart.

At least for Jaskier.

They were in Redania, in a small town close to Novigrad. 

Like he had been doing those last two weeks, Jaskier was drinking one pint after another without stopping or eating anything. He had a blank look on his face, his eyes glassy like the first time he had read the letter. He didn't talk to the locals, nor to Geralt, but he did laugh with all the jokes anyone would be shouting between drink and drink. Geralt was sitting in front of his friend and didn't quite eye off him. Off and on, Jaskier glanced at the witcher over his jug with a funny and sometimes absent look, and toasted with him without words, giggling like an idiot after. 

And Geralt tightened more his teeth every time.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t watch how Jaskier was trying to drown himself in alcohol, suffering in silence for whatever was written in that letter. It wasn’t as if he wanted Jaskier to sing or talk that desperately, because if it wasn’t for the thought Jaskier was repressing his feelings like Geralt had been doing all his life, it would have been great.

But Geralt knew that what was happening was not great. That he had to do something about it if he wanted to fix it. Wich for that he had to do the thing he least liked to do.

_ Talk _ .

That night, two weeks after the letter, Geralt looked at a very drunk Jaskier, locked eyes with him and done the sign  _ Axii  _ without anyone noticing it, commanding him to stop drinking and come with him to their room.

It was a small room, with one bed, one window, one chair in a corner. Geralt shut the door as Jaskier had done two weeks ago. Only this time the two of them were on the same side of the stone wall. Jaskier babbled something unintelligible, leaning into Geralt, who was supporting the bard with one arm. Geralt sighed, taking Jaskier to bed. The bard giggled, lying on the mattress with open arms and eyes closed while Geralt lighted the candles they have.

“ _ Sssssso _ ... you finally have the guts to fuck me?”

Geralt sighed again and turned around, looking at him with tiredness. He was not prepared for this. Hunting monsters was easier. Fuck, facing the Trials had been easier. He didn't want to do this. He couldn't.

Geralt ignored the question, ignored the way Jaskier was weakly rolling on the bed, smiling like the barfly little shit he was being right now. He dragged the chair across the room to left it near the bed. Then he sat on it, a few inches from Jaskier, who was staring at him. Geralt crossed his arms, more resigned than angry. 

Jaskier snorted and sat up, wobbling a little.

“ _ OooOooOooh _ the scary face,” he said, smirking, mocking him. 

Geralt blinked, pressing his lips in a thin line. He didn’t know how to start, he didn’t want to start. It terrified him.

“Jaskier,” he murmured, exhausted. He knew his body posture was tense and nervous but. “ **You can’t do this** every night.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and frowned. 

“And what I am doing exactly?”

Geralt grunted, looking away for a second. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He let out a deep breath.

“You are trying to forget, trying to… not to think.” Geralt said. Jaskier huffed and let himself fall on the bed with a loud whined. Geralt felt compassion. He bit his tongue and tapped his arms with his fingertips three times before he uncrossed it and rested it on his knees. Jaskier curled up in a ball. “I know it’s easier that way, I know it better than anyone, Jaskier, I know but…” The misery and helplessness accumulated over two weeks were burning him, burning his heart. He couldn’t do this, but he must. That was Jaskier would do for him if they were the other way around. “Don’t do this to yourself, please,”

Maybe was the despair in that please, maybe not, but Jaskier suddenly lay on his other side, facing Geralt with a bright look. Geralt locked eyes with him again, feeling vulnerable. Jaskier wrinkled his nose. 

“Why do you care, you never care,” he blurted with rancor and… sadness. Geralt arched his eyebrows. 

“Jaskier… “ he mumbled, feeling more tired than before because of course, why would he care, according to Jaskier? 

Geralt never cared about anyone or anything. That had always been his facade: the lonely, distant and irritable witcher who never took sides. But Jaskier was always the first who threw in his face that he cared and involved with everything and everyone. Always. Because deep down that was what Geralt do: care. Jaskier saying he didn’t care about him hurt Geralt more than he would think, but… 

He wanted to think that Jaskier was drunk and that he didn’t mean what he said. 

_I should make him sleep_ , Geralt thought, _he's drunk, whatever I say to him now won't help_.

Jaskier groaned and turned around, laying on his other side, with his back to Geralt. Geralt looked down, shaking his head a little. Then he got up and took a blanket from his bag left near the bed. It was made of soft, fluffy wool and it would keep Jaskier warm all night long. Geralt let out a deep breath and started to unfold it. He had tried, but he knew the talk was not over. He knew he had to do it in the morning again when the bard was sober. He swallowed, feeling a big lump stuck in his throat.

Then he heard the whimper. 

And turned around.

Jaskier was still curled up, but he was also trembling with broken sobs. Geralt frowned, not angry but worried, and approached the bed, sitting on the edge behind Jaskier's back. He set the blanket aside and put a gentle hand on Jaskier's shoulder. Jaskier flinched but didn’t move away.

“Jaskier–”

“She’s dead,” he whimpered.

Geralt frowned a little more, confused. He dragged his hand along his arm, a soft caress. Jaskier sniffled, sobbing with shaky hiccups. Geralt bit his lips and his tongue, feeling powerless, feeling like he couldn’t do anything to relieve his pain. Because it was no longer just about helping him with the alcohol problem. Now he knew why and what Jaskier was trying to forget. 

He was mourning.

Even with all the years that Geralt had on his back, he had no idea how to calm someone who was grieving. If he didn't build ties with anyone was precisely to avoid having to suffer that type of sorrow. He would live much longer than any human. He would see any human die, by age, by disease, or by the sword. It didn't matter. But they would die before him. Jaskier would die before him and thinking about it caused him enough misery already.

He didn’t want him to die. He didn’t want to think about him dying. He didn't want him to suffer.

Geralt closed his eyes for a second.

He couldn’t do this.

But he loved Jaskier, so he must do it. 

For him.

Geralt squeezed his arm and got up slowly, picking up the blanket and walking towards the other side of the bed. He took off his boots and his belts and tossed them aside, on the floor. Then he climbed to the mattress and tucked Jaskier and himself with the blanket. He didn't blow out the candles, the little flames would help him keep Jaskier calm. 

Jaskier had his eyes red, puffy, his cheeks and nose wet. He was still shaking with his own whines. Geralt hugged and pressed him against his body, gently, humming the few notes he knew of that lullaby Jaskier sang when little girls asked him to sing on demand. The low sound of Geralt’s voice calmed Jaskier a little, who curled up even more against the witcher, grabbing and gripping his black shirt. Geralt felt Jaskier warm breath against his neck, hearing it getting quieter and regular bit by bit. He stroked his silky brown hair, lazily, until the bard relaxed and fell asleep. Geralt looked at him then, in the grim light that the candles were throwing everywhere, and left a faint kiss in his forehead.

_ Sleep, little bird. _

Geralt didn’t take long to fall asleep either, but when he did, he was still worried.

* * *

When Jaskier woke up he was alone. The sunlight was pouring throughout the wide-open window, and it was as if someone would have sunk a million daggers in his head. He let out a weak whine, curling up and covering himself with the wool blanket. The breeze was fresh and nice and carried with it the pretty chirping from the birds. Jaskier felt weak and awful, dizzy, sick. He remembered very little about the night before, but he didn't care. He knew Geralt was the one who had helped him, like the other times. 

Who else would have done it?

He felt remorse for a moment, there, under the blanket Geralt probably had tossed to him before leaving. He knew that Geralt didn't deserve having to take care of him, that he has better things to do. Like his witcher job. Jaskier knew he was being selfish behaving like he had been doing for those two weeks. But he didn't care about that either. He thought he had some right to did it after all. What he didn't understand was why Geralt has not abandoned him in his grief. Because he could see the witcher was irritated and angry every day since the night of the letter.

The letter for which Geralt had not inquired again.

Jaskier knew he was being careless, ungrateful, growling at everything as if he was now the temperamental witcher and Geralt was the resigned, tired of grunts, bard. He wanted to say it was unintentionally but that would be a lie. A half-lie.

He wanted Geralt to leave him alone.

He wanted Geralt to stay with him.

He wanted to cry, again.

Jaskier heard a creak from the door and pretended to be still asleep. He knew it won't work, but with luck maybe…

"I know you are awake,"

Jaskier mumbled between teeth and sat up in the bed slowly, tossing aside the blanket a little. He realized then he was still on his clothes of the night before. He looked up, frowning, feeling a hard beat in his temples. The sunlight was torture, the birds happy chirping was a torment.

"How do you feel?" Geralt asked, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Jaskier.

"As if a kikimore was chewing my head," Jaskier groaned, rubbing his forehead, his eyes and his face in general. "What time is it?"

"Noon, but don't worry about that, I have paid for one day more."

Jaskier uncovered his face and stared at him, doubtful. Right now Geralt looked like he was the calmer and the most patient man on all the Continent. It was quite strange. Jaskier clicked his tongue, whining.

"You didn't have to do that, we agreed to leave at sunrise."

Geralt shook his head.

"Not in your condition," he retorted, and offered Jaskier a slim and tiny bottle filled with a light blue liquid. "Here, drink this. It'll help you with the hangover."

Jaskier frowned, thinking that it was the first time Geralt was doing… was taking that type of care of him. He took the bottle slowly, without looking at Geralt, feeling the witcher amber eyes fixed on him. He popped out the cork and drank the damn thing with a single sip. It tasted like peppermint and rosemary and it left a fresh sense in his throat. The hard pulse in his temples started to fade, bit by bit. Jaskier let out a deep sigh, feeling a little bit better.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Where did you get it?"

"There's a healer not so far from here, she gave me a bunch of bottles for the next times… If there is a next time."

Jaskier huffed, gripping the bottle in his hand.

"Geralt–" he hesitated. 

Geralt waited for him to keep talking but when Jaskier didn't do it, he spoke in his place. His voice was gentle, secure, soft.

"I'm sorry for not had cared more about what was happening, it's being hard for you. I should have known it or notice it when you started to drink that much."

Jaskier blinked, holding his breath.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured. "Don't worry about it, it's… it's has nothing to do with you." 

He looked up and saw how the calm cracked a little, revealing bitter and anger under it.

"Oh, yes, Jaskier," Geralt said, low, not angry but… hurt. "It has everything to do with me, "

Jaskier grunted, rolling his eyes and tossing the blanket aside completely, with the idea of getting out of bed and leaving the room. But Geralt grabbed him by the arm and kept him in place. Jaskier glared at him and frowned, but the witcher didn't flinch and looked him back with severity, with burning sorrow in his golden eyes. 

Jaskier swallowed hard.

"I know you don't want to have this conversation," Geralt whispered. "But we'll have it, you like it or not."

"You can't force me," Jaskier tightened his teeth.

He was getting angry. Geralt inhaled a deep breath.

"I can do it, you know, I have a few witcher tricks under my sleeve," he said, leaning towards Jaskier a little. Jaskier didn't move away. "But what I want it's you trusting me enough to tell me what can I do to help you." Jaskier felt his hands shaking, so he closed it in fists. Geralt saw that and sighed weakly. "I know that it's easy to ask for trust when I never let you know much about myself or my concerns but I want to try."

There was a heavy silence, with Jaskier watching Geralt with a flat face.

"Why?" he inquired then, cynical.

Geralt frowned, smelling the sarcasm. 

"Why what?"

Jaskier looked away, letting out a loud, tired and extravagant sigh.

"Why do you want to try or… to do anything? We are better than before, right?" Looking at him again, Jaskier made a melancholic grimace. "I'm not bothering you with my stupid chit chat or my music all the time, I thought you would be grateful?"

It was as if Jaskier had punched Geralt in the guts. Because he wasn't drunk anymore and was, certainly, very aware of what he was saying. Geralt loosened his grip on Jaskier's arm without thinking or noticing. He knew what was Jaskier doing. 

It hurt.

"Jaskier… " The whisper was full of exhaustion. Geralt brushed Jaskier's white knuckles. " **I can’t just sit by and do nothing when you’re suffering so much.** "

"Why not? It would be easy for you,"

Then something broke down and Geralt snapped.

"No, it's not!" His eyes blazed with wrath, frustration, annoyance, anxiety and pain. "It's not easy just watch you trying to kill yourself!"

Jaskier replied with identical hostility.

"I'm not trying to kill mysel–"

"Yes, you are! I'm not blind, Jaskier! I know you are mourning! And I understand you don't want to trust me with that because I'm a stupid asshole who doesn't trust you with anything! I understand, really! But I can't do this anymore, I can't sit by and do nothing! I have been doing that for two weeks, waiting for you to feel better, giving you space, and it didn't work, so I thought I have to talk with you about your feelings because that's what you would try to do with me if I would lose someone important!"

Geralt got up and walked around the room, inhaling and exhaling fast. Jaskier watched him doing that, feeling himself strangely calm and… better. Strangely, strangely better, because Geralt cared. He parted lips.

"I know you are trying to push me away," Geralt cut off, still glaring at him with fire in his eyes. "And I know why you are doing it, so cut this bullshit and talk to me. I'm not giving up on you." And Geralt looked at him intensely. "You are my friend."

_ You are my friend. _

Jaskier felt the tears peeking out the corner of his eyes, and tasted bitter in his tongue. Then he got out the bed, stepped towards Geralt and hugged him without words, hiding his face in his chest, puffing out a quiet whine. Geralt hugged him back, also with no words, caressing the bard's hair. Jaskier was trembling.

"No, don't cry, please," Geralt murmured. "I'm sorry I yelled at you… I was frustrated."

"It's okay…" Jaskier mumbled in return. He sounded weak, muffled with his forehead pressed against Geralt. "I hurt you on purpose, so I deserve it."

"No, you are the one who is hurt."

"But that's no excuse, you are indulging me because you feel pity."

Geralt sighed and Jaskier felt warm, touching his back with curious hands, feeling Geralt thick muscles under his fingers, feeling his hard pectoral against his cheek.

_ Sssssso... you finally have the guts to fuck me? _

Jaskier blinked and got away from Geralt as if the witcher was burning him. Geralt arched his eyebrows, worried.

"Jaskier?"

"Uh," the bard stepped back, tilting his head with hesitating. "Tell me I hadn't said something weird to you last night."

"Define 'weird', "

"Oh, Gods," Jaskier rubbed his face, groaning, and gone back to the bed. He wrapped himself with the blanket and curled up in a ball on the center of the mattress. "What I said to you?"

Geralt contemplated him in silence for a moment and walked to the bed too, sitting on the edge again with a deep sigh.

"You asked me why I care, because I never care," he explained, noticing that he was sounding a little sad. "And you told me that someone, a woman, was dead."

"Ugh... " Jaskier replied. Then he sat up, letting the blanket fall around him. "Geralt, I'm sorry…"

"You really think that?"

Jaskier glanced up. Geralt was watching him again patiently. Almost… 

Almost with love.

Jaskier made a sad grimace.

"No, of course not. I know you care, and… that you were worried since the night I got the letter." Geralt nodded. "I think that if you wouldn't care about me you wouldn't try to understand my feelings even when that's difficult for you. You wanted to talk when you haven't to do it, when it's something that you don't normally do. I appreciate it…"

Jaskier sighed still a little sad, and tired. The hangover was long gone but the sensation of being chewed by a terrible beast remained. He sighed again and looked at Geralt, who was silent. Jaskier thought for a second that he didn't deserve his kindness. He slightly licked his lips, hesitating.

"It's my mother," he whispered then. "She died a month ago." Geralt nodded again, weakly. They were, again, too close. "My father sent a dozen men to get me the news but we were always moving, so…"

"They took their time,"

"Yes…"

"You feel guilty,"

Jaskier licked his lips again and looked away. He knew Geralt was comprehending his emotions by the smell. Sometimes he wished the witcher couldn't do that. Jaskier took a deep gulp of air.

"The last time I saw her was a year ago, and we didn't part in good terms exactly," he clarified.

"Why?"

"She…" Jaskier paused, feeling uncomfortable. When he glanced at Geralt again he knew the witcher was about to say that if he didn't want o couldn't tell him it was okay. But Jaskier wanted to compensate him. "She wanted me to stay in Lettenhove, be the noble that deep down I'm not."

"Hm… "

"We had an argument and I ran away from home with her yelling at my back that I'm a disappointment because the only thing I want to do was write songs and stories, and travel with you, a mutant," Jaskier covered his face with his hands and groaned, upset, embarrassed. "She called you _ that _ . And I was so furious after heard her saying it that I declared openly that I preferred being friends with a monster before being her son."

Jaskier could hear Geralt moving closer to him. Then he felt a hand, a warm, strong and big hand, on his shoulder.

"Those were big words, Jaskier," His voice was still gentle.

"I know," he mumbled, exposing his face again. He wanted to be under the blanket all-day, he wanted to forget what he said that time. "But that's not the worst."

Geralt squeezed his shoulder.

"The worst is you can't apologize to her," he said. "That was you were trying to forget, not her death."

"Mostly, yes."

There was a short and light silence, with Jaskier ruminating his thoughts, and Geralt watching him and trying to control his own anxiety. Geralt took his hand away from his shoulder.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

Jaskier smiled at him, still sad but…

"A little, yes. Thank you," he whispered.

"You don't have to thank–"

Geralt held his breath and cut off himself when Jaskier circled his neck with his arms and hugged him tightly. Jaskier giggled and sobbed at the same time.

"Yes, of course I have to thank you, you idiot," he said, resting his chin on Geralt's shoulder. He felt a caress in his hair, and smiled again. "I know this is hard for you t–"

"But this it's not about me, Jaskier," Geralt retorted, protested. "It's about you."

"But–"

"No, listen to me," Geralt broke the hug and looked Jaskier at the eyes. The bard could feel his breath in his lips. That made him feel lightning running down his spine. "It's hard for me to talk about anything, yes, it's true. But I'm not the one grieving, you are. This is about you, your feelings and us trying to ease your pain day by day, because it will not be something that will disappear soon."

Jaskier wanted to kiss him. He should kiss him. But he knew it was not the right time. He frowned, grinning a little.

_ Us _ .

Geralt brushed Jaskier's ruffled hair, stroking his forehead with his thumb and got up from the edge of the bed.

"Now, I am getting us something to eat, "

He walked towards the door. Jaskier realized suddenly he was hungry enough to eat a whole horse. His belly groaned.

"Please, thank you," he whined.

Geralt opened the door, but looked back at him.

"Oh, and when you'll be better and not too much vulnerable I would like to talk about the idea of you wanting me to fuck you."

He closed the door before Jaskier could react. The bard blinked and stared at the wall.

_ Sssssso... you finally have the guts to fuck me? _

Jaskier blinked again and covered his mouth with one hand slowly, face blank and plain, hearing a very much high pitched scream in his mind. Then he thought if he could jump through the window without broken his bones or killing himself in the process.

He really said that to Geralt. 

He  _ really _ said  _ that _ to Geralt. 

_ Oh, Gods. _


	5. I might have slept with your cloak when you were gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt the exact second in which Jaskier wake up, so he took his hand away slowly. He saw his nose and forehead wrinkling, he heard his gasp, his breath hitching. And he sensed him trembling before he began to get up, with the cloak covering his shoulders and almost all of his body, and spreading around him like a silent shield, like a guardian. Jaskier yawned behind a hand and sniffed, tired, eyes narrowed at the light the fire was pouring everywhere. 
> 
> "Geralt?" he mumbled like the first time. "What time is it?"
> 
> "Go to sleep again, you have a few hours until dawn," Geralt advised, low and soft voice.
> 
> Jaskier made a sound mixture of a growl and a whine. Gerald snorted. The bard rubbed his face, mostly his eyes, and wake up a little more. He let out a new grunt and looked at Geralt, seeming guilty.
> 
> "Sorry, I fell asleep with your cloak when you were gone," he said, 
> 
> ”Oh, you don't say," Geralt arched his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said in the last chapter that there will be ten chapters in total BUT someone told me they want smut, so...
> 
> Yes, the 11th will be a smutty chapter! ❤❤✨✨

The crescent moon was high in the sky, clawing it as if it was a slim and bright scar. The breeze, fresh with the song of autumn, blew softly from the west. It wasn't cold, but it would be in a few weeks when the winter breaks on the Continent and covered it with a huge coat of snow.

Geralt had been on guard, making a quick round of reconnaissance closest to the clearing where the camp was. Even if he didn't sense any monster, there could be wolves or bears prowling around and he didn't want to be surprised during the night while he was meditating. When the witcher came back to the clearing, the fire had been reduced to weakly incandescent embers, and bard and mare were asleep safe and sound. Roach was lying down but with her legs ready to stand up instantly if she felt danger. Geralt knew she would wake up in three hours at the most.

And that she would wake up Jaskier at that moment.

The bard was leaning, or rather curled up, against the mare's belly and back, snoring softly on her mane. He must have fallen asleep while Geralt secured the area, looking for the warmest and comfortable spot to do it. Geralt would have told him that he could have spread his bedroll beside the fire, that horses only slept three hours even if they felt safe and it wasn't a good idea slept near Roach. Geralt contemplated them for a second, shaking his head a little with resignation before approached the mare and the bard, as careful as he could be. Two steps away, Roach snorted softly and raised her head to look at Geralt as if the witcher was a threat to Jaskier. But Geralt caressed her muzzle with a tiny smile blooming in his lips. The mare pushed his hand, gently, looking for something to eat, nibbling his fingers. Geralt sighed and bent down next to Jaskier.

Then he noticed the cloak.

He hadn’t noticed Jaskier had it when he had returned to the camp, but the bard had wrapped himself in Geralt huge black cloak in his absence. Geralt blinked a little surprised because even if it would be really cold, Jaskier could have kept the fire burning, or simply taken advantage of the heat of the mare like he was apparently doing right now. 

But he had the cloak too. 

_ Jaskier must be very cold _ , he thought,  _ but he’s not shaking, and his cheeks are rosy. _

Geralt made a confused grimace and brushed a strand of hair from Jaskier's forehead, taking a deep breath. A strange but soft and pleasant feeling ran through his body as if he was immersing himself in hot water. He parted his lips, licking it slightly, feeling his fingertips tickling while he was stroking Jaskier warm temple.

_ He wasn’t cold, he just wanted… _

Geralt let out a faint and pensive  _ hm _ , watching him, feeling that the warm was fusing and melting with calm, peace, and something delicate, fragile, heavy, but not heavy in a bad way. And that feeling whirled in his chest, tightened his guts and crawled along his back, up to his spine as if sweet and comforting fingers were massaging his skin, his muscles, his hair. 

It was something electric.

Geralt patted Roach’s neck and got up. He spread both bedrolls, his and Jaskier's, together, setting a one larger than if the two bedrolls were separate. Then he walked back to Roach and bent down beside Jaskier again. And picked him up, one arm under his back, the other under his knees. 

It was like lifting a feather.

Jaskier mumbled something incoherent and open his eyes a little, somnolent. 

"Geralt?" he murmured, his voice weak and low, tinted with the mantle of dreams.

The witcher looked down, at him, knowing that Jaskier couldn't see in the dark, far less if he was not entirely awake.

"Hm?" he grunted softly,

Jaskier shrugged in his arms and didn't answer back. When Geralt left him on the bedrolls he curled up much more for instinct than for keeping warm. Geralt sat down on the other bedroll and cast  _ Igni. _ The sign torched the bonfire in a blink, throwing gloomy shadows and lights around the camp. It creaked with orange sparks. The witcher closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

A cloud of scents was fluttering around. The burned wood, ashes, dust, warm stone, dried grass. He also could smell Roach, her strong aroma sprinkled with oats, pasture and the apples Jaskier gave her sometimes. And there were the pines and the thicket, the woods. It was a fresh, green and humid aroma, that was covering the other like a gentle... cloak. Geralt looked at Jaskier, who was sleeping again and felt himself smiling softly. His human scent was like breathing after being drowning in deep and dark waters. It was precious, a smell that made him feel comfortable, safe… Then he could smell his own scent, merged with Jaskier's. He wasn't completely sure it was his, but there was leather, metal, even a mist of blood, and something acid and viscous that Geralt thought could be his potions. His smile faded a little as he stroked the bard's hair again with shy fingers.

He felt the exact second in which Jaskier wake up, so he took his hand away slowly. He saw his nose and forehead wrinkling, he heard his gasp, his breath hitching. And he sensed him trembling before he began to get up, with the cloak covering his shoulders and almost all of his body, and spreading around him like a silent shield, like a guardian. Jaskier yawned behind a hand and sniffed, tired, eyes narrowed at the light the fire was pouring everywhere. 

"Geralt?" he mumbled like the first time. "What time is it?"

"Go to sleep again, you have a few hours until dawn," Geralt advised, low and soft voice.

Jaskier made a sound mixture of a growl and a whine. Gerald snorted. The bard rubbed his face, mostly his eyes, and wake up a little more. He let out a new grunt and looked at Geralt, seeming guilty.

"Sorry,  **I fell asleep with your cloak when you were gone,** " he said, 

”Oh, you don't say," Geralt arched his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised.

Jaskier huffed, smacking him in the arm. It was a slap so weak that Geralt chuckled. Then Jaskier rested his head on Geralt's shoulder.

"It's warm," he whispered, and Geralt felt his smile without looking. "And smells like you, it's comfy… nice."

Geralt smiled too, softly. He had always thought that his smell was too strong, too much thick and dense and nasty for Jaskier because Jaskier loved how soaps made him smell like lavender or roses or whatever. And certainly, he knew Jaskier also loved perfumes and incenses, and…

"I can smell me in you right now," Geralt murmured. "It's nice too."

"Really?" Jaskier lifted his head.

"Yes,"

Geralt looked at him, almost feeling Jaskier's breath in his lips, thinking about how he could explain to him how the idea of Jaskier having his scent stuck it was important. It wasn't simply nice, it was much more than that. And he liked it. He liked what it meant. 

Jaskier smiled, flashed him a glint of his pearly white teeth and kissed Geralt on the lips. It was a slight, quick peck, too short, too weak. Geralt sighed, wanting more.

"Go back to sleep,  _ little bird _ ," he muttered, stroking Jaskier rosy cheek with his thumb. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

" _ Hm _ ," Jaskier hummed, kissing him again and whispered in his mouth. "Sleep with me?"

Geralt parted lips, to say that he won't need to sleep that night, that he had to meditate to concentrate for the next day. But. He saw his brilliant blue eyes, brighter with the light fire. He saw his tiny pretty frown. He saw his eyes closed by the touch of his fingers. He felt his skin, soft and warm. And decided to indulge him. 

"Alright," he said.

Jaskier smiled again.

"Do you want your cloak back?"

Geralt didn't need to think twice about the answer.

"No, keep it,"

_ It's not that cold _ , he thought,  _ he just wanted my cloak. _

Jaskier let out a tired happy grunt and curled up in one side of the two combined bedrolls, wrapping himself a little more with the cloak. Geralt waited for a heartbeat, watching him accommodate. Then he threw a glance at Roach, who was sleeping calmly without minding anything else, and lay on his back, looking at the stars, beside Jaskier. Instantly, the bard moved towards him near enough to rest his head on Geralt's arm. Slowly, Geralt raised that arm and let Jaskier move even closer until he could stretch alongside the witcher larger body. Jaskier nuzzled just under Geralt’s not completely rough with beard jaw, yawning like a little puppy.

Geralt breathed in, deep and long, catching again that precious scent, the smell of buttercups and daisies, the lute wood varnished with specials oils that made it shine a little. Jaskier also smelled like Roach, and like his witcher armor leather, like his silver sword. Then he exhaled a long sigh and closed his eyes, feeling the rough and, at the same time, the heady touch of his cloak, the cloak that made Jaskier feel safe, under his fingers. 


End file.
